


Has Been, Will Be

by bevinkathryn



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Merthur Party 2013, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:44:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bevinkathryn/pseuds/bevinkathryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The progress of Merlin and Arthur's relationship was a long and rocky road, but destiny is a stubborn thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Prince and the Servant

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the first of my (hopefully) seven entries for the Merthur Party 2013. Each chapter can be read as a continuation or as a oneshot. Go team green! x

There were many, many things about Merlin’s new job that he hated.  First there were the hours he was expected to be at Arthur’s beck and call, which as far as he could tell were all of them.  Then there was the chores he was supposed to do, and how none of the servants would help him (aside from Gwen, who was so far the best part of this whole situation).

Right now, at the top of his list of Why Being Arthur’s Manservant is a Terrible Reward, was feasts.

“You, fill my goblet.”

Merlin gritted his teeth as yet another arrogant noble snapped their fingers at him, not even waiting for him to lift his pitcher before going back to ignoring him.  He schooled his features into the neutral mask all of the other servants wore as he poured the wine before backing away, blending once more into the background like a good servant was supposed to.  His eyes flicked towards Arthur across the hall, as they had been all evening, but the prince didn’t even seem to notice him, deep in conversation with one of his knights.  He hadn’t so much as glanced at Merlin all night, allowing other servants to refill his cups and bring him food when the occasion arose.  Merlin didn’t understand it.  He was _sure_ he’d been improving, what could he have possibly done to anger the prince since—

A heavy body colliding with his arm jolted him out of his thoughts.  He managed not to fall, but the pitcher in his arms had tipped, spilling some before he could steady it right onto the hem of the noble who had knocked into him.

For a second there was silence, and then everything exploded.

“You clumsy fool,” the lord roared, seizing Merlin by the collar as several other servants came scurrying forward to clean the mess.  “King Uther will have your hand for insulting my person in such a way.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Merlin muttered before he could stop himself, and he didn’t need the panicked look one of the servants gave him to know that he had _seriously fucked up_.

“I will not tolerate such insolence!” the lord, apoplectic with rage at the insult, shouted, spittle flying from his mouth.  He shoved Merlin, making him and his pitcher clatter to the ground.  He raised his hand, and Merlin braced himself for the impact, forcing his magic down and praying none of the rings on the lord’s fat fingers would catch his eye.

The slap never came.  Instead, there was a warm body suddenly at Merlin’s side, and when he risked a look upward, he was shocked to see Arthur standing there, fingers tight around the lord’s raised fist.

“Sir Turquine,” the prince said, eyes cool and voice so terrifyingly flat that Merlin stayed crouched where he was, uncaring that his trousers were soaking through with wine, “what are you doing?”

“I am restoring my honor, sire.”

If anything, the lord’s response made Arthur’s face harder, and Merlin swore he saw his grip on Sir Turquine’s fist tighten.

“By hitting an unarmed servant?  Where is the honor in that?”

Sir Turquine blinked.  “I—sire, he insulted me, I was only taking the compensation due to me.”

Arthur’s expression didn’t change, although he did release Sir Turquine’s hand.  Merlin flinched, expecting to be yelled at next, and was therefore shocked when instead he heard Arthur say, “Get out.”

“Sire?” Sir Turquine blinked, evidently just as surprised as Merlin.

“We do not abuse our servants in Camelot,” Arthur said, and part of Merlin wanted to laugh at that.  Most of him, however, was in awe of Arthur.  He’d never really seen the prince like this, exuding so much power simply by standing there.  Merlin had never felt more like a servant, kneeling there at his prince’s feet, and for a moment something just _clicked_ , before the moment ended and Arthur continued to speak.  “If you cannot conduct yourself properly in our court, then you must leave.”

Sir Turquine sputtered, but Arthur had evidently heard enough.

“Merlin, come,” he ordered, spinning on his heel and heading for the door.

No one moved, too busy staring after Arthur to do much of anything else.  At the head table, Uther had finally caught wind of what was going on, and was watching his son with a look that was part fury, part calculation.  Merlin didn’t know what it meant, but sudden movement from Sir Turquine reminded him that he was very much still there, and very much still furious, and he finally jumped to his feet to hurry after the prince.  Neither of them spoke as they left the feast, nor for the entire walk to Arthur’s chambers.  It wasn’t until Arthur had carelessly thrown open the door and begun shedding his clothes for Merlin to pick up that Merlin broke the silence.

“Thank you, sire,” he blurted awkwardly, the honorific feeling foreign on his tongue.  It caught Arthur’s attention, at least, making him pause for a moment before resuming the removal of his clothes, at a slower pace this time.

“What are you blathering about, Merlin?” he drawled.  But Merlin was determined for Arthur to not dick his way out of this conversation.

“It was very brave of you to stand up for me to Sir Turquine, and I thank you.”

Arthur snorted.  “Sir Turquine was hardly a threat to _me_.”

“No,” Merlin agreed, “but your father is.”  Arthur’s shoulders visibly tightened, but Merlin continued anyway.  “He won’t be happy that you stood up to a lord in public like that.”

“What would you know about what my father thinks?  Sir Turquine is a toad, if anything father will thank me for ridding the feast of him.  Shut up and make yourself useful, would you?  Pick up my clothes.”

Merlin sighed deeply.  Arthur did this a lot.  Most of the time, he was the bossy, pratty prince he’d been when they’d met, but sometimes he did something that surprised Merlin.  Almost immediately afterward, he’d be twice as bad as normal, as if to make up for his moment of humanity, and Merlin just didn’t get it.

“Yes, sire,” he sighed eventually, and bent to pick up Arthur’s discarded cloak, moving awkwardly as his wine-soaked trousers stuck to his damp skin.  He was vaguely aware of Arthur watching him, but since he didn’t say anything Merlin felt safe in ignoring him.  Eventually, Arthur evidently grew bored of staring at his manservant and moved away, leaving Merlin to tidy after him in peace.

A moment later, he nearly dropped Arthur’s pile of clothes as a ball of fabric collided with his head.

“You really are a clumsy oaf,” Arthur remarked as Merlin plucked the fabric off of his head to glare at him.

“And you really are a prat.  I wasn’t even looking!  Who throws trousers, anyway?”

“Like you could’ve caught them even with a warning.”  Merlin scowled, but said nothing, so Arthur continued, “And they’re for you.”

“They’re—what?” Merlin asked, frowning.  Arthur waved an impatient hand.

“What, did the blow take your hearing?  I said they’re for you.  You smell like a wine cellar and you look even more pathetic than usual hobbling around like that.  You can return them when yours are clean if it bothers you.”

He said all of this while very studiously avoiding Merlin’s gaze.  Slowly, Merlin set Arthur’s clothes down and stepped over towards the changing screen, eyes flicking back towards Arthur as if he expected the prince to stop him.  He didn’t, and so Merlin changed as quickly as he could (using a quick charm to dry his damp legs).

When he reemerged, Arthur was changed into his sleeping trousers, though he wasn’t in bed yet.  Instead, he was standing at the window, looking thoughtfully out at the courtyard.

“You can just add those trousers to my laundry, the laundress won’t mind,” he said absently, not looking up.  “And, until Sir Turquine leaves the citadel, I would keep a low profile.  He wouldn’t dare touch you himself, but he could very well get one of his servants to.  And I’d hate to suffer the embarrassment of my manservant not being able to defend himself.”

Merlin snorted.  “Thank you, Arthur,” he said, and this apology felt right, much more natural than his first.  Arthur nodded at him.

“You may go.”

He’d already turned and begun to walk away before the idea occurred to him, making Merlin pause and turn back to face Arthur.  The prince raised an eyebrow at him.

“What is it, Merlin?”

“Nothing.  I just thought…you had to leave the feast so early.  If you wanted—“ Merlin hesitated, then, “If you wanted, I could go down to the kitchens for some more wine, and you could finish it in peace?”

Arthur didn’t answer right away.  He looked at Merlin intently, and Merlin tried not to fidget.  He didn’t know what had possessed him to offer, but now that he had he found he actually wanted Arthur to accept.  Finally, Arthur nodded.

“Bring enough food for two,” he added, when Merlin turned to leave.  “No sense in both of us eating alone.”

“Yes, Arthur,” Merlin said, a smile unfolding on his mouth.

\---

Years later, Merlin was never able to pinpoint when exactly he’d _realized_ that he’d fallen in love with Arthur.  It’d been more of a slow awakening, small occurrences coming together until he’d woken up and there’d it been, as if it’d always been there.

He could, however, remember the night he’d s _tarted_ falling in love with him.  When an arrogant lord had yelled and Arthur had stepped in, and they’d spent the rest of the night in Arthur’s chambers just talking.  It was both the first night Merlin had truly seen Arthur as the prince, and also the first night he’d seen him as simply a man, who blushed when he was tipsy and laughed like a donkey and had huge, beautiful dreams for the kingdom he loved more than anything. 


	2. The Prat and the Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur may be a prat, but he's a handsome one, and Merlin's only human (and an idiot, too, if you ask Arthur, but Merlin had no intentions of doing that). A few months after becoming lovers of convenience, Merlin and Arthur have a quiet night together after patrol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Merthur porn to distract us all from the anniversary. <3
> 
> Is anyone surprised that it only took me until day two of the Merthur party to get these two in bed together? Because I'm definitely not.

If there was one thing Merlin had learned since coming under Arthur’s employ, it was that there was nothing quite like coming home after a long patrol.  The aches and pains in his bones from long hours in the saddle followed by too few hours sleeping on the hard ground seemed to melt away as he collapsed onto Arthur’s plush mattress with a grateful groan.

“The sheets have been changed!” he observed happily, voice muffled as he burrowed into the pillows.  He heard Arthur snort.

“Yes, because _some_ of the servants actually know how to do their job,” the prince said pointedly.  Merlin raised his head enough to see Arthur standing in the middle of the room, hands on his hips and still wearing the light armor he’d worn on their trip.

“Come here, then,” Merlin sighed, sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the mattress.  Arthur gave him his usual incredulous look he gave whenever Merlin did something unservant-like before shaking his head and coming over to stand between Merlin’s knees.  Merlin undressed him quickly, letting the armor pile up at the side of the bed and ignoring Arthur annoyed huff when he noticed.

“Do you have to go back to Gaius’s tonight?” Arthur asked once he’d been divested of all but his trousers.

“Do you want me to stay?” Merlin asked in return.  He wasn’t surprised in the slightest when Arthur nodded.  He usually did ask Merlin to stay after an extended patrol, sometimes for sex but, recently, other times just to fall asleep together.  “Okay, then I’ll stay.  Gaius won’t be expecting me, anyway,” he added, and was startled to realize that it was true.  Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d spent the night in Gaius’s spare room.

Shaking his head, Merlin kicked off his boots and shirt before crawling back onto the mattress.  Arthur followed, catching him round the waist before he could get too far.

“How is it possible that someone who eats as much as you manages to have such _pointy_ elbows?” Arthur complained as Merlin accidentally elbowed him.

“Because my master keeps me running at all hours of the day and night, probably.”

“Shut up, you idiot,” Arthur said, and then kissed him to make sure he obeyed.  Merlin was perfectly content with this method and kissed him back, allowing himself to be rolled over onto his back, Arthur draped over him like a warm, grope-y blanket.  Neither of them were hard yet, grinding lazily together and letting their arousal build slowly.  It felt good to be able to take their time after nearly a week of hurried handjobs in their pallets, to let their soft noises of pleasure be heard rather than muffle them for fear of waking one of the knights.

Merlin ran his hand down Arthur’s spine and pushed encouragingly on Arthur’s next thrust, hiccupping a sigh at the delicious friction it brought.  Arthur nipped his neck in response.

“Oi, you prat, no marks,” he reprimanded him half-heartedly.  Arthur sighed, but relented, focusing instead on grinding their erections together instead, more purposefully now.  Merlin did his best to meet him, kissing whatever he could reach of Arthur’s skin.  He would’ve content to continue doing just that until they both came, but Arthur apparently had other ideas.  With all of the imperiousness due a spoiled prince, he quickly finished stripping first himself and then Merlin and took both of their cocks in his fist, not allowing Merlin any say in the matter as he stroked them at his own speed.  As compromise, he allowed Merlin to draw him in for lazy, sloppy kisses.

Knowing he was too tired to last, Merlin nudged at Arthur’s shoulder until he pulled back.  With one last kiss, he unwrapped Arthur’s hand from their cocks and took himself in hand, gesturing at Arthur to indicate he do the same.  Arthur did, and Merlin began to stroke himself, smirking at the intense way Arthur watched him, dark eyes glued to the way his fist moved over his erection.  He didn’t put on a show, simply stroked himself the way he liked it, groaning with each spark of pleasure down his spine.  The friction was a little off, his skin too dry, but Merlin was too tired and too close to care over much.

When he felt his orgasm building, he reached up with his free hand to rub against Arthur’s hard chest, breath hitching.  Arthur’s mouth was opened slightly as he stared down at him, his own cock angry red and leaking between his strokes.  When Merlin came, back arched and silent except for a small, surprised gasp, Arthur groaned and doubled the speed of his fist.  Through the haze of orgasm Merlin reached out to stop him, using his free hand to grope over towards the cabinet for their bottle of oil.

Wordlessly, Merlin uncapped the bottle and poured it into the apex of his thighs, rubbing it around with his clean hand under Arthur’s scrutiny.   Once he’d thoroughly covered himself, he set the bottle back and pushed at Arthur until he had enough room to turn around onto his belly, uncaring of the mess on his skin.  Once he’d settled, he looked at his prince over his shoulder in time to see the light of understanding in his eyes.

“Are you sure?” Arthur asked, his hungry gaze betraying his desire.

Merlin simply nodded, and then Arthur couldn’t move fast enough, dropping down and easing his cock between Merlin’s thighs.  When Merlin clamped tightly around him, he groaned, and then gave his first, experimental thrust.  When Merlin made no complaints, he did it again, more sure, until he was fucking him in earnest.

The pressure was a little uncomfortable on Merlin’s sensitive cock, but he couldn’t bring himself to complain.  Not with Arthur grunting against his shoulder blade, or his warm hands pressing Merlin’s wrists into the mattress.  He could feel Arthur’s control slipping, and then after only a few moments, Arthur came, just as silent as Merlin had been.  Neither of them moved for a moment, catching their breaths, before Arthur kissed Merlin’s shoulder and rolled off of him.

Still feeling languid from his orgasm, Merlin stretched with a happy sigh.  He made a face when his skin rubbed against the drying come on the linen.

“So much for clean sheets,” he muttered.

“You can clean them in the morning,” Arthur said with a smirk, ignoring Merlin’s squawk of outrage and pulling him in close to spoon on the clean side of the bed.  Merlin stopped struggling at once, because this was new.  They’d been having sex for nearly a year, but cuddling had not been on the schedule.  Sure, they’d woken up from time to time with Merlin’s head on Arthur’s chest, or Arthur holding Merlin close against him, but they’d never done it _on purpose_.  Especially not with come still drying on Merlin’s skin.

“Arthur—“

“Just shut up and go to sleep, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur grumbled.

Merlin decided that that was sound enough advice, but that didn’t stop him from mumbling back, “Prat.”


	3. The Once and Future King and the Greatest Sorcerer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It amazed Merlin sometimes, to know that Arthur often doubted himself as king, when he saw the grateful looks on the faces of the lowest of soldiers when their king walked among them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone!
> 
> For prompt three in the Merthur Party. Go Team Green!

“…we will send a small force first thing in the morning.  Sir Leon, are your men prepared?”  
  
“Yes, sire,” the knight in question nodded, looking up from the map stretched out on the table in front of them.  Arthur nodded.  
  
“Good.  Make sure they all have their instructions before they turn in,” he said.  “The same goes for the rest of you.  If all goes well, they’ll never see the battlefield, but I don’t want anyone unprepared.  Dismissed.”  
  
“Sire.”  
  
The knights all bowed to their king before shuffling out of the tent.  As soon as the last one was gone, Arthur sighed and stopped down into the nearest chair.  Merlin took this as his cue to step out of the shadows, coming over to place his hand on Arthur’s shoulder.  
  
“Your conditions of peace are sound.  Their king would be a fool to refuse them.”  
  
“I’m not entirely convinced he isn’t,” Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Camelot has more resources, and more men.  Why would he try to declare war on us?”  
  
“I’ve told you, kings are like children.  They’re never happy so long as someone else has more than they do,” Merlin said.  He was rewarded with a quiet huff of laughter, and the slight lessoning of tension in Arthur’s shoulders.  “Besides, his foolishness could work to our advantage.  If he does decide to proceed, our men can take care of his easily.  There may not even be much bloodshed.”  
  
“Be that as it may, I won’t have my men getting killed because they weren’t prepared to fight.”  Arthur took one last look at the battle plan on the map in front of him, and then heaved himself to his feet.  Merlin stepped back to allow him space.  “I’m going to go make my rounds.  Be here when I get back?”  
  
Merlin smiled.  “Of course.”  
  
Arthur nodded, and then swooped in for a quick kiss.  Merlin gave it to him, letting his hand rest on Arthur’s bare wrist in reassurance as the king pulled away, and then left to speak to his men, as he had every battle since his first.  It amazed Merlin sometimes, to know that Arthur often doubted himself as king, when he saw the grateful looks on the faces of the lowest of soldiers when their king walked among them.  
  
Alone in the tent, Merlin decided to put himself to good use and tidy.  Arthur liked to travel light, but he was still as messy as he was back in the castle, leaving papers and clothes on various surfaces for Merlin to pick up later.  
  
He’d just bent down to wrestle a discarded shirt from under a chest of armor when he heard the tent flap rustle, and someone’s quiet, tentative footsteps enter the tent.  He looked up to see an unfamiliar serving boy blinking anxiously around the tent.  There was something about his appearance that told Merlin to stay where he was, to watch as the boy stepped further inside, thinking he was alone.  He made his way over to the cot that Merlin and Arthur slept on with fast, jerky movements, his eyes never stopping their roaming.  
  
Merlin settled deeper into his hiding spot, but the boy never noticed him.  He watched as the boy stopped at the side of the cot and dug something out of his pocket.  The angle was too awkward for Merlin to make out what it was, but then the boy started speaking in the rough language of magic, his eyes glowing gold.  At once, Merlin surged to his feet, his magic already hurling itself at the boy, whose shocked gasp was choked off as he was thrown away from the cot, colliding with a tent pole.  
  
The tent wobbled dangerously, but Merlin paid it no mind, stalking towards the frozen boy.  His earlier nervousness had morphed into pure terror at the fury in Merlin’s glowing eyes, and Merlin might have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t been trying to kill his king.  
  
“What do you think you were doing?” he hissed, letting his magic tighten around the boy’s limbs, keeping him frozen in place.  The boy couldn’t speak, but Merlin wasn’t particularly interested in hearing what he had to say.  “You’re lucky I didn’t kill you on sight.”  
  
The boy opened his mouth, and Merlin’s eyes flashed.  
  
“You’re a sorcerer,” the boy sputtered stupidly, pale and wide-eyed.  “You—you weren’t supposed to be here, I waited for everyone to leave—“  
  
He continued to babble, but Merlin ignored him in favor of picking up the poultice he’d dropped.  It barely glittered with magic, the spell having been interrupted too quickly, but anger swarmed through Merlin anyway.  
  
“Why did you try to kill the king?” Merlin interrupted, turning sharply back to stare at the boy.  
  
What little colour the boy had had disappeared at the question, but he the instant Merlin tightened his magic again he blurted, “I wasn’t trying to kill him, I swear, I-I was just supposed to put that under his pillow, make him weaker so that King—“  
  
At once, the boy’s mouth snapped shut, but it was too late.  
  
“King Caradoc sent you?”  It explained his rash actions—he’d been planning this treachery all along, relying on underhanded sorcery to defeat Arthur while his army could not.  It was worse than cowardly.  
  
The boy, oblivious to Merlin’s realization, had continued to babble.  
  
“Please don’t kill me, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to, he  _made_  me—“  
  
“Why shouldn’t I kill you?  You were going to kill Arthur, directly or no.”  He let his magic flow forward, making the air around them hum with life.  “And it is my destiny to protect the king.”  
  
The boy’s eyes widened, but when he spoke, it wasn’t the plea for mercy Merlin had been expecting.  
  
“Emrys.”  
  
“How do you know who I am?” Merlin demanded.  The boy still looked terrified, but there was definite awe in his expression.  
  
“I-I was born a druid.”  
  
Merlin’s eyebrows rose.  “A druid, working for a warrior king?” he said, but the boy shook his head vehemently.  
  
“No, Caradoc, he—he took me from my people.  I had no choice.”  It was then that Merlin noticed the scars around the boy’s wrists, marking the places that a heavy chain had rubbed the sensitive skin.  He sucked in a breath as the boy continued in a tiny voice, “Please, Emrys, you must help me—just let me go, you can help me, we can escape together.  I know somewhere we can hide, where no tyrant will harm us any longer—“  
  
“Arthur is a great king,” Merlin interrupted sternly, “and a great man.  You’ve heard the prophecy.  One day he will be the greatest king Albion will ever know, and I will not leave his side until that day arrives.”  
  
The boy sucked in a surprised breath, but said nothing.  Making a swift decision, Merlin released his magic, and the boy fell to his knees.  
“What’s your name?”  
  
“D-Derrien.”  
  
“Derrien.  You must trust me when I say that Arthur is not his father.  One day—“ Merlin paused, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth.  “One day magic will be celebrated in Camelot.”  
  
“You really believe that?” Derrien asked, surprise eclipsing the fear on his face.  He looked so young, and so hunted, that Merlin’s heart twisted.  
  
“I do,” Merlin replied, as surely as he could.  Derrien continued to gape at him, until Merlin finally stepped back.  “Now go.  No one will notice you if you keep your head down and leave straightaway.  If anyone asks, tell them I’ve sent you for more bathwater for the king.”  
  
“You’re letting me go?”  
  
“I won’t kill someone for something that is not their fault,” Merlin said pointedly.  Derrien nodded, and then hurried to his feet.  Merlin waited until he was nearly at the door before he called out his name.  
  
“If I catch you trying to harm Arthur again,” he said, almost casually, “I won’t hesitate to kill you.”  
  
Derrien visibly swallowed, and the next second was gone.  Merlin was left alone, listening to the sounds of the army milling around outside the tent.  He didn’t know how long he stood there, but soon enough the tent flap rustled again, and this time it was Arthur that stepped inside.  
  
“I see you made yourself useful while I was busy,” the king said, eyebrow raised.  Merlin smirked.  
  
“I’ll show you how useful I am if you come over here,” he replied suggestively, stretching out his arms invitingly.  His king laughed, shook his head, and then closed the distance between them, sliding into Merlin’s arms with ease and a kiss.


	4. Arthur and Merlin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On his birthday, Arthur surprises Merlin with a day away from the citadel and their duties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 4 of the Merthur Party 2013. Go team green!

Arthur’s skin was not smooth.  There were scars from training and worse battles lining just about every part of him, and hard patches from his armor.  Merlin loved it anyway, and took great delight in running his fingertips over it in wandering, aimless patterns whenever he got the chance, usually at night, once they were both sated and drowsy.  He didn’t often get the chance to do it during the day, the two of them too swept up in their duties to manage anything intimate, so it was a rare treat to spend any great deal of time observing the way the sun seemed to caress the curves of Arthur’s body.

But today wasn’t an ordinary day.  It’d started out as one, for all that it was Merlin’s birthday.  He’d woken up next to Arthur, fetched their breakfasts, and dressed his king for the day before his birthday was even mentioned.  And then Arthur had continued to rattle on about the hunt they were going on, and what Merlin needed to bring for him.  Merlin had just shrugged it off—birthdays had never been much to celebrate in Ealdor, anyway—until they’d set off and found themselves, not on any of the usual hunting trails, but in a quiet, secluded glen, where Arthur proceeded to produce a basket of food and an enormous smirk at Merlin’s surprise.

“What are you writing?” Arthur’s sleepy voice asked, its owner not even opening his eyes.

“An ode,” Merlin replied cheekily, “to your arse.”  Arthur snorted.

“Not the typical subject for odes about your sovereign.”

“Since when have we been typical?” Merlin pointed out, kissing Arthur’s shoulder.  They fell silent again, enjoying the solitude of the glen they’d chosen as their hideaway.  The sun was still warm on their skin, but Merlin could see that it would be setting soon, and he sighed to know they would have to return

"What if we just stayed here," Arthur said, as if he'd read Merlin's mind.  "I'm sure Guinevere could govern in my stead."

"I'd give it a week before you got antsy and charged in to take back your throne," Merlin yawned.

"And you'd be right there with me," Arthur replied, sounding smug.

"Debatable."

Arthur snorted, shoving Merlin hard enough to jostle him but not to fall off of Arthur's chest.  Merlin laughed and relented.

"Alright, alright, I would, you bully."

"Damn right you would be," Arthur growled, and kissed him.  It was certainly not their first kiss of the day, but it was the most passionate.  Arthur had roused from his drowsiness with alarming speed, rolling them over so that Merlin was on his back.  Merlin went along with it happily, sliding Arthur's shirt up and off so that he could feel the rest of Arthur's warm skin under his palm.  Arthur made an approving sound, and then did the same.  Merlin rewarded him with a sucking kiss to his collarbone.

"Our clothes are going to be filthy," he mumbled distractedly, mouth pressed to Arthur's chest, when Arthur tossed his shirt carelessly aside.

"I'll just tell everyone you tripped over your one feet.  No one will question it."

"Arsehole."

"You can't talk to me like that."

"You're not the king out here," Merlin said, licking Arthur's nipple as if to mark his point.  "You're just Arthur."

Arthur didn't respond.  When Merlin glanced up, he saw Arthur looking down at him with a fond, almost soft expression.  Wordlessly, Arthur drew Merlin in and kissed his agreement against Merlin's lips.

That kiss melted into another, and then another, until finally they were both naked, tangled in each other and the blanket and not caring.  Arthur's cock was hard against Merlin's thigh, and suddenly Merlin wanted nothing more than his mouth around it, so he shifted, sacrificing Arthur's mouth to press kisses to his erection.  Arthur groaned and cursed, like he always did when Merlin did this.  His fingers found their way into Merlin's hair and tugged.  He didn't let go, not even when Merlin took pity and swallowed him down, cheeks hollowed ad he eased as much of Arthur's cock as he could into his mouth.

Merlin had to bite down on his groans of pleasure that each sharp tug on his hair sent down his spine.  He could tell that Arthur was getting close, and for a moment he mourned the loss of this, of having Arthur spread beneath him, and then Arthur gasped, back bowed, mumbling something that could have been Merlin's name but was too garbled to tell.  He was gorgeous, and Merlin decided that losing the taste of Arthur on his tongue was worth it if he was able to see him come apart.

He didn't have to wait long.  Arthur came on his next pull back, his warning going ignored as Merlin swallowed around him.  He released Arthur's cock only when he knew it was starting to get uncomfortable, unsurprised at the kiss that Arthur immediately pulled him into.  He hadn't even thought about his own orgasm yet, but when Arthur's fingers brushed against his erection he jerked, suddenly wanting.

Arthur chuckled, because he was sated and an ass, but Merlin didn't care enough to complain so long as Arthur kept stroking him.  He let his head drop onto Arthur's shoulder, so that he wound up almost cuddling against Arthur's chest, hands clenched tightly around Arthur's arms.

"Merlin," Arthur murmured into Merlin's ear, his free hand reaching back to splay across the small of Merlin's back, and Merlin came, overwhelmed by the feeling of Arthur's hands and his body and his voice and just _Arthur_.

Later, after they'd exchanged kisses and touches and, eventually, gotten dressed, Merlin would have time to be embarrassed, mortified at coming from Arthur's voice.  He would blush and groan at Arthur's teasing, and then hide his face in Arthur's shoulder.  And then—and _then_.

And then Arthur would kiss him, and call him an idiot.  But then he would say his name, and it would sound a lot like love.


	5. Not the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camelot felt hollow. But life continued, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 of the Merthur Party 2013, for Team Green! I'm insanely proud of this part, even if it isn't overtly Merthur-y, and I hope you all enjoy. xx

Camelot felt hollow.  Merlin had been back for nearly a week now and he hated it, _hated_ it.  The vibrant reds and golds of the castle were draped in black, the halls were silent, and the knights—those who had survived, and Merlin was still convincing himself that _that_ wasn’t something to be bitter about—were, too, for their king but also for their friends.  The servants were more like ghosts than usual, floating about the halls like mirages, making the castle feel too big and too quiet and too empty, as if losing the king had killed it, too, and Merlin wanted to scream just to fill the echoing, cloying silence.

He didn’t, though.  Mostly he just stood at the top of the highest tower, pretending he could see the lake where he had last seen his king.  He slept in an unused room in the same tower, the very thought of returning to the bed that he and Arthur had shared for so many years making him retch.

“Merlin?”

Merlin jolted at the sound of his name.  It’d been days since anyone had tried to talk to him, having blessedly given up after three days of constant questioning without a single answer.  Turning, he saw Gwen standing in the doorway of the tower, dark eyes watching him.

“I thought I’d find you up here,” she went on, not bothering to wait for him to speak.  She folded her hands in front of herself, a habit she’d formed in her servant days and had never tried to break, and stepped forward, looking over Merlin’s shoulder.  “I can see why you come up here so often.  It’s beautiful.”

It was, but that wasn’t why Merlin was there.  He didn’t correct her; he had a feeling Gwen knew that, anyway.  She stepped up to his side, eyes still fixed on the horizon, and remained silent.  Eventually, Merlin turned and followed her gaze.

“Moya gave birth this morning,” the queen’s quiet voice finally broke the silence, though her gaze remained averted.  “From the kitchens?  You’d know her if you saw her.  A healthy baby girl, she is.  And Sir Alan’s wife is with child at last.”

She chuckled, as though at some long-held joke that wasn’t funny so much as it was fond.  Merlin didn’t understand why she was telling him this, but again, suspected she knew this.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?  All of this mourning and there’s still life,” she continued.  She smoothed down the dark material of her gown, and Merlin had to fight the urge to flee.  He didn’t want to be there, to listen to this, he couldn’t do it—

“I miss him,” Gwen admitted, and Merlin nearly screamed at her.  “I know you understand that better than anyone.  But you’re being selfish.”

She paused, as if to give Merlin time to respond.  He didn’t, though, and so she continued, “Arthur gave up everything for his people.  He did his duty, and now it is up to us to do the same.  It is the only way I know of to give his memory that it deserves.  While we mourn, there are people fearing for their lives, and Arthur would be furious with us if he knew we weren’t doing anything to help them.  And to do that, I need you, just like Arthur needed you.”

Merlin shut his eyes.  Gwen continued, anyway.

“Arthur is—he is dead, but Camelot is still alive.  And we need to protect her, until our last breaths, just like Arthur did.  This isn’t the end, Merlin.  If we play our cards right, it’s a beginning, which Arthur helped us start.”

“Albion’s Golden Age,” Merlin croaked, and if Gwen was surprised she hid it well, simply turning and smiling at him, that same hopeful, sweet smile that she had given him the day they’d met.  It should have looked out of place, the smile of a servant on the fact of a queen, but it didn’t.  It was a symbol, of the Albion Arthur had always wanted.  The one they could create, in Arthur’s name.

“The Golden Age,” Gwen agreed, and somewhere, an old dragon smiled.

\---

“Emrys?”

Merlin stifled a sigh.  He rarely visited the druids these days, uncomfortable with their reverence of him, which had only increased with his age until it morphed into a strange worship that involved a lot of staring and gasping in awe whenever he so much as twitched.  Their interest in the Old Religion he would always be grateful for, but privately he thought they could probably do to let go of at least a _few_ of the old ways—indoor plumbing, for example, was _exceedingly_ nice.  As was coffee, and real beds, and—basically, he’d decided, round about the time electricity was spreading like heavenly wildfire, that the he could do with being a distant figure in druid mythology rather than a frequent guest.  Doing so served the double purpose of allowing him to stay in his flat with its telly and running water, and giving the druids something to obsess over.  As a result, he’d tried to visit only when it couldn’t be avoided, and tended to spend the majority of his visits avoiding wide-eyed druids.

Now, it seemed as if his hiding place had been discovered.

“What are you doing down here?” the young druid girl asked innocently, bending low in order to see Merlin between the twisted, gnarled branches of the tree stretching out above their heads.

“Communing,” Merlin said cryptically, and the girl nodded at once, as if she understood, and didn’t question it.  Sometimes it paid to be the mysterious Emrys.

“I’m sorry for interrupting.”

“Don’t be, I was finished,” Merlin sighed, because the girl looked genuinely contrite and there was no point in punishing her for interrupting something that wasn’t happening.  “Did you need something?”

“Amena was looking for you.  She says she has something to show you.”

Merlin blinked at the name.  Amena was the druid camp’s leader—a woman, as the druids has thankfully accepted equality even if they hadn’t quite gotten their heads around jeans yet—and rarely spoke to him, allowing him mostly to do as he wished without being disturbed.  He liked her, but had no idea what she would want with him.

“Do you want me to bring you to her?” the druid girl asked, eyes huge and hopeful, and Merlin decided it was easiest to just allow it.

He was rewarded with a genuinely delighted smile and relatively little chatter as the girl led him back to the camp, and it amused him to see her looking so smug and grand at the jealous looks her peers gave her, walking side-by-side with the great Emrys.  Eventually though, they reached Amena’s cabin (another development thankfully accepted by the druids), and the girl left Merlin be with a bow and a happy giggle as she scampered away, leaving Merlin smiling as he let himself inside.

“Amena?”  The woman didn’t answer, so Merlin stepped further into the dimly lit room.  He couldn’t see anything at first, but then the vague shapes began to make sense of themselves, and at last he found her, collapsed against a wall and holding something clutched tightly to her chest.

“Amena!  What happened?” he asked, rushing forward and placing a hand on her shoulder.  She blinked owlishly at him, not making any indication of pain, but Merlin was too afraid to move her anyway.  “Are you alright?”

“Emrys,” she gasped, hand reaching out with lightning speed to fist in his jumper.  “ _Emrys_.”

“I’m right here, you’re alright.  What happened?” Merlin asked, concern growing.  The woman’s eyes were huge, and he could see her heart beating frantically in her chest.

“The crystal—I saw—“ she cut herself off, hand convulsing around whatever was in it.  Merlin glanced down, and felt his heart constrict.  It was worn with age, but the power radiating off of it was unmistakable, even after so many centuries—the Crystal of Neahtid.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, but Amena paid him no mind.

“Emrys,” she said again, and suddenly her eyes were alive, burning into his as she shook him.  “I saw him.”  The words made no sense, but something about them made his magic rustle, sending a shiver down his spine even as he frowned.

“Who?”

The druid woman blinked, and somehow, Merlin knew the answer before she had spoken it, even though it was insanity itself to think that _now_ would be the time—

“ _Arthur_.”


	6. Just the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They met again at university.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For prompt 6 in the Merthur Party 2013--to team green!
> 
> This was the hardest prompt for me to fill, with the end result that is leagues away from the original draft and not 100% what I wanted, but hopefully is enjoyable a read, anyway. Thank you to everyone (especially my lovely, lovely teammates) who have commented and cheered on so far. It means a lot to me! xx

They met again at university.

Merlin had long since lost track of how many degrees he’d earned over the centuries, but he always enjoyed adding on to his education, comparing what he’d learned in ages past to what was taught now.  So he thought nothing of it when the urge struck him again, simply magicked himself up the appropriate papers and applied.

Imagine his surprise when he walked into his first lecture only to be faced with blonde hair, wonky teeth, and blue eyes so painfully familiar they actually took his breath away.

Of course, Arthur didn’t remember, not at first.  He’d been born into a perfectly ordinary family and raised somewhere just outside of London, played footie and secretly adored Harry Potter.  By some stroke of luck (or maybe destiny), he was still named Arthur, and was so similar to Merlin’s king it made his entire body ache just to look at him.  But he was different, too, more accepting and less snobby and slightly less inclined to be a prat, but he had the same noble, loving heart.

Merlin had spent the first month of their acquaintance oscillating between delight and terror at this new-old Arthur, his conflict only increasing when it became obvious that Arthur was _flirting_ with him.  It wasn’t that much of a surprise—he and Arthur had been lovers, after all—but he couldn’t help but feel as though it would be taking advantage.  And then, in true Arthur style, the prat had taken the matter completely out of his hands by kissing him, conquering Merlin’s body like he had in Camelot.

A month later, a gunman pulled his trigger at Arthur.

\---

“Mr. Pendragon is resting, and shows no signs of permanent damage from the brief concussion.  However, we want to keep him overnight, just to be sure.”

“Why keep him if there’s nothing wrong?” Arthur’s father demanded, looking stiff and fierce in the bright lights of the hospital.  The doctor, however, didn’t back down.

“It’s standard procedure.  Mr. Pendragon suffered a shock, followed by a concussion.  I just want to be sure he is in the safest place possible should anything happen, however unlikely.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Mrs. Pendragon—alive and well in this life—said before he husband could open his mouth.  “Now, may we see him?”

“Of course,” the doctor nodded, before his gaze flicked over the family to rest on Merlin.  “Family only, I’m afraid.”

Merlin’s heart, which had been beating madly since the moment he’d pushed Arthur out of the gunman’s way, only to look down and see his eyes closed, sank, but Mr. Pendragon put a hand on his shoulder before he could move back.

“Merlin is family, doctor.  He saved our son’s life, and is his partner,” he said, in a tone that left no room for argument.  The doctor looked like he’d like to try, anyway, but then relented and allowed the Pendragon clan to push past him and crowd in Arthur’s room.

“Oh, my poor boy, how are you feeling?” Mrs. Pendragon cooed at once, swooping in on her son before Merlin got a chance to even see him.

“M’fine, mum,” Arthur’s voice assured her, and Merlin’s heart raced again at the confirmation that _yes_ , Arthur was alive, he was okay—

“Where’s Merlin?”

The warlock jerked as everyone’s eyes turned to look at him.  Mrs. Pendragon had shifted a little, allowing Merlin to see Arthur at last.  He looked fine, for the most part.  There was a small cut over his left eyebrow, and he looked paler than usual under the harsh florescent lights, but it was the look in his eyes that made Merlin’s blood freeze.  He was looking at Merlin as if he was seeing for the first time—or for the first time in a very, very long time.

 _He remembers_.

“John,” Mrs. Pendragon said, and both Merlin and Arthur jumped, “why don’t we go and find something to eat?  You two take some time alone.”

She collected her husband and firmly steered him out the way they’d come, giving Merlin a warm smile before shutting the door.  Merlin stared at it, focusing on his breathing for just a moment before slowly turning back to Arthur.

They stared at each other.  And then Arthur opened his mouth.

“Merlin,” he began, but Merlin was already stumbling forward, clambering onto the tiny hospital bed without a second thought and throwing himself into Arthur’s arms.  Arthur caught him, and held on just as tightly.  Merlin didn’t realize he was crying until Arthur shushed him, pulling back just enough to wipe a tear away and press a hungry, desperate kiss to Merlin’s mouth.

“You idiot,” he said, and Merlin laughed because he’d missed that.  Arthur pressed their foreheads together, breathing deeply.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin whispered after a moment of silence, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t—“

“Shut up, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur growled fiercely, and Merlin obeyed at once.  “You did everything you could.”

“But you died—“

“I was destined to die, you know that.  And I’ve had more than enough time in Avalon to learn just how much you’ve done for me, waiting for my return.”  He glared at Merlin.  “You have _nothing_ to apologize for.”

Merlin swallowed thickly, allowing his eyes to close.  He smiled thinly when Arthur kissed one eyelid, then the other, lips so wonderfully warm against his skin.  Still, he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “I thought we would have more time, just to be us for a while.  I _wanted_ more time.”

“What are you talking about?” Arthur said, in the voice he used when he thought Merlin was being an idiot.  “We have all the time in the world.  This is just the beginning of our new lives.  We don’t even know what we’re supposed to _do_ yet.”

To anyone else, the hint of vulnerability that had crept into his voice might have been easily hidden, but Merlin knew Arthur far, far too well.  Surging forward, he cradled Arthur’s face in his hands, kissing him firmly on the mouth.

“You’re right.  For once,” he added, just to see Arthur smirk.  “This doesn’t change anything about who we are.  You were born into this time to become the person you are now.  Whatever we choose to do, our destiny will follow us.”

“Wise words for an idiot,” Arthur muttered, his smile belying the insult.  Merlin kissed him, anyway.

“Read it in a book,” he teased, and they were still laughing between kisses when Arthur’s parents found them, several minutes later.


	7. The Golden Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is back, their destiny is underway, but at heart, they're still just two boys in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seventh prompt for the Merthur Party 2013--hopefully I'll get around to the bonus prompt tomorrow. :) Go team green!
> 
> And again, thank you to everyone who read this silly thing and supported me through the week. It's been a great party, I truly appreciate all of you! xxx

Merlin wasn’t surprised when he woke up alone.  Arthur wasn’t prone to lie-ins, and it was fairly common for him to be awake, showered, and making breakfast by the time Merlin opened his eyes.  The first time it’d happened after Arthur’s return, Merlin had panicked, running into the sitting room without so much as grabbing his pants, only to find Arthur peacefully making toast in the kitchen.  Now, he merely rolled out of bed with a yawn, shoving his legs into the first pants he found and shuffling towards the kitchen.

Predictably, Arthur was in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on his tea.  He looked up when Merlin entered, and smiled.

“Good morning.  I was wondering when you’d surface.”

“It’s barely 9, arsehole,” Merlin yawned in reply, pressing himself to Arthur’s warm back and slipping his arms around Arthur’s waist.  “Besides, we’re on holiday.”

Arthur chuckled, and Merlin felt the vibrations of it beneath the palms of his hands.  He smiled against Arthur’s shoulder, pressing a quick kiss there.  Arthur made a show of rolling his eyes, but Merlin knew he didn’t mind.  They’d spent the past week of their holiday touching each other at every available opportunity, but Merlin still couldn’t get enough of Arthur.  He was so proud of Arthur, but it drove him mad, sometimes, to have to play the assistant and be content with simply watching, too wary of the ever-present press just drooling for the chance to print something nasty about ‘the king of human rights’, as they’d taken to calling Arthur.  It made them both laugh, but something about it felt right.

But here, Arthur wasn’t any type of king.  He was simply Merlin’s, so Merlin kissed his shoulder again and whispered, “Come back to bed.”

The sheets were still warm from Merlin’s body when they fell back into them, naked again and kissing fiercely.  Merlin snaked a hand down to coax their cocks into full arousal and let his head fall back, allowing more room for Arthur to suck kisses under his jaw.  Arthur murmured approvingly.  They rocked together in slow, almost lazy movements, content to kiss and lick and let the arousal build up.

Arthur’s hands wandered, kneading first at Merlin’s forearms, then drifting down to anchor his hips, and finally landing on his arse.  Merlin’s breathing stuttered when his fingers began to creep further, tracing down until it ghosted over his hole.  He rubbed there, not pushing in but simply teasing, grinning when Merlin wriggled impatiently.  Merlin was tempted to use his magic to gain the upper hand, but he forced himself to wait.  He bit his lip when Arthur ground down against him, his strong thigh providing not-enough friction for Merlin’s erection, and Arthur chuckled.

“Want me to fuck you?” he asked silkily, hardly more than a breath which ghosted across the shell of Merlin’s ear and made him shiver.

“No,” Merlin said, just to be contrary.

Arthur snorted, looking pointedly down at the way Merlin was grinding back onto his hand, cock leading and legs spread as wide as he could get them.  Merlin growled and yanked Arthur down into a kiss.

“Shut up, you arse.”  He let his eyes glow golden, and a second later, their bottle of lube appeared in his hand.  He used Arthur’s surprise to his advantage, quickly slicking up his own fingers and reaching down, moaning theatrically as one finger breached him.  Arthur huffed.

“Fucking cheeky,” he groaned, but he didn’t take his eyes off of where Merlin’s fingers were disappearing into his body, so Merlin figured he didn’t mind after all.  He added a second finger, and Arthur’s cock visibly twitched, one hand reaching down to stroke it idly.

“Fuck,” Merlin moaned unashamedly, moving his fingers faster as he watch Arthur fist himself.  Arthur smirked, knowing just how much Merlin love watching Arthur get off, and Merlin retaliated by adding a third finger.  And so it continued, both of them constantly trying to one-up the other, until Merlin deemed himself ready and slipped his fingers out, spreading his legs further and sighing as Arthur’s cock began to breach him.

“Good?”

Merlin nodded, accepting Arthur’s kiss when it came and then immediately interrupting it with a moan when Arthur began to fuck into him.  Arthur’s hands guided Merlin’s legs to hook over his shoulder, and he used the leverage for deeper, steadier thrusts.  Merlin’s toes curled.  He dragged Arthur down for a sloppy kiss to bite down on the gasps that wanted to escape, but some of them managed it anyway.  Arthur didn’t seem to mind; if anything, he seemed more turned on than before, pounding into Merlin just to hear the moans wrenched from his throat.

“Arthur, touch me,” Merlin commanded, and Arthur complied at once, wrapping his hand around Merlin’s cock and tugging in time with his own thrusts.  Merlin laughed aloud at the feeling, dizzy with pleasure as Arthur’s cock pushed inside and his hand teased his erection.  It came as a surprise, then, when Arthur came first, tensing for the briefest moment before filling Merlin with his come.  They both groaned, and Arthur continued to thrust into him in short, sharp jabs, allowing Merlin to take over his own pleasure until he came, too, silent as he spilled over his own fist and onto Arthur’s chest.

They just breathed together, afterwards, foreheads pressed together until Arthur pressed the gentlest of kisses to Merlin’s lips and went to find a cloth.  When he came back, Merlin had pushed himself into a sitting position, and they exchanged kisses as they cleaned themselves up.

“I don’t want to go back to work,” Arthur murmured once they’d settled back down, lying on their sides, legs tangled and facing each other.  Something stirred in Merlin’s memory—a small moment from back in Camelot, just the two of them in a field—or was it a clearing?—and Arthur wishing they could remain there, free from their duties.

Arthur kissed his temple, jolting Merlin from his half-remembered memories.

“We have a few more days for just the two of us,” he said, tilting his head so he could see Arthur’s face.  Arthur smiled at him.

“I was thinking more like a lifetime,” he replied, and kissed him.


	8. Bonus: Then, Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a new life, but it's the same destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, the bonus prompt! Thank you so much to every reader, reviewer, and especially teammember who encouraged me along the way. I had a blast in this party, and I can't wait for the next one! xxx
> 
> One last time--go team green!

_Then_

“Another round, Rosie!”

The barmaid nodded to show that she’d heard Gwaine’s command, and a moment later the entire table had fresh tankards in front of them, Merlin included.  The knights tucked in greedily, but before Merlin could do more than reach for his a hand snatched it out of his reach.

“Hey!”

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur said smugly, taking a giant swig of Merlin’s ale.  “We don’t want you making a spectacle of yourself, do we?”

“I’m fine, you prat!” Merlin protested, trying to grab for Arthur’s untouched tankard, but the arsehole shifted it further away, grin spreading across his face.  He allowed Merlin to shuffle closer, still reaching for the drink, until they were practically sitting in each other’s laps, and Merlin was finally able to snatch his own tankard back, which was already half-empty.

“Git,” Merlin muttered, but there was no heat in the words as he settled back into his seat, much closer to Arthur than he’d been before.  No one seemed to notice how their thighs were touching on the bench, having gone back to ignoring the pair once the antics had ended, no doubt just as Arthur had intended.

\---

_Now_

“Anyone for another round?”

The table erupted in requests, barely intelligible over the din of the surrounding pub.  Merlin laughed, settling back into Arthur’s side as Gwaine tottered off for the bar.

“Think he got that?”

“Not a chance,” Arthur snorted, idly beginning to play with a lock of Merlin’s hair.

“Oh please, Gwaine’s had our orders memorized since the first pub date,” Leon rolled his eyes.  The rest of their group laughed and agreed, not even blinking at the couple’s embrace.  Sure enough, Gwaine returned with all of the correct drinks, looking confused at their sniggering.

“What did I miss?”

“Nothing, Gwaine,” Merlin chuckled, reaching for his drink.  His fingertips had barely brushed the glass when it was whisked out of reach, and he turned to glare at Arthur, who smirked.  “Arthur.”

“What?  I’m saving you, _Mer_ lin.  Can’t have you making a spectacle,” Arthur teased, making no move whatsoever to keep Merlin from snatching the drink back, expect to use Merlin’s proximity to pull him into a kiss.

\---

_Then_

They hadn’t made it in time.  Most of the village had been destroyed before the first knight so much as stepped foot inside it, and even the satisfaction of having the bandit’s blood on his sword couldn’t quell the pain of losing so many lives.

He’d retreated to his tent afterwards, leaving his men around the fire while he drafted his apology to the mourning families, but he wasn’t surprised to feel a hand come down on his shoulder despite his plea for solitude.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Merlin’s voice said firmly.  Arthur sighed, but allowed it when Merlin crouched beside him, pulling him into his waiting arms and pressing a kiss against his temple.  If, when they finally separated, Merlin’s shirt was a little damper than it’d been before, Merlin didn’t feel the need to comment on it.

\---

_Now_

Arthur managed to make it all the way back to their flat before he gave into the temptation to punch the wall.  Merlin said nothing, didn’t even flinch as he stepped forward and drew Arthur further into their home, stripping him as they went.  Arthur allowed it, still spouting profanities at the _unfairness_ of it all.  Everyone had said it was a sure thing—Arthur had worked _so fucking hard_ , how could it all crumble so easily…and what was he going to say to his people--?

“It wasn’t your fault,” Merlin interrupted, taking Arthur’s shoulders firmly in his hands.  “This isn’t the end.  We’ll keep fighting it, and eventually we’ll win.”

Arthur said nothing, and Merlin used his silence to draw him in closer, gently kissing his forehead.  Finally, Arthur exhaled.  Under Merlin’s hands, the tension in his body began to unwind—his anger was still there, his frustration, but it seemed manageable.  He knew that Merlin was right—this wasn’t the end.  And when the time came, they would keep fighting.  And they would win.

\---

_Then_

The woman was dirty, too dirty for even the tears streaming down her face to clear.  Arthur crouched in front of her, anyway, not caring about the mud her shoes had tracked across his hall or the dust that fell on his cloak as he took her hands in his.

“Elen—you say this creature is of magic?”

“Y-yes, sire,” she hiccupped, looking torn between staring beseechingly at Arthur and averting her eyes from her king.  “It breathed green fire , and looked like no mortal beast—“

Arthur moved closer, forcing the woman to look at him.  “I thank you for braving the journey here.  We will set out at once to reclaim your village.  Leon, ready the knights.  Elyan, alert the stablehands—“

The woman’s eyes shone with gratitude as Arthur gave her one last pat on the arm before sweeping off, issuing orders.  Merlin’s heart swelled with pride, and he moved to follow his king.

\---

_Now_

Even with his suit jacket off, Arthur stood out in the crowd.  His golden hair gleamed in the fluorescent light, and the crisp whiteness of his dress shirt shone among the dingier, rattier clothes of the shelter inhabitants around him.  He didn’t seem to care, though, as he sat amongst them, talking and laughing with each person in turn.  The cameras had long since gone, but Arthur was still there, making Merlin smile as he exchanged some complicated handshake with a young boy before sending him off to giggle in his mother’s skirts.

A woman approached, and Arthur immediately gave her a smile—not the careful, practiced smile he gave the media, but a real, genuine grin that the woman couldn’t help but return.

“Mr. Pendragon?”

“Arthur,” the blonde said firmly, extending a hand to shake.  “What’s your name?”

“Elen.”

“Elen,” Arthur repeated with another smile.  “Lovely name.”

She blushed prettily, and stammered, “I-I just wanted to thank you, for all that you’ve done.  I just volunteer here now, but I used to need places like this, and…I wouldn’t be living on my own if it wasn’t for you, and I’m…just, thank you, for looking out for us.”

Arthur’s face softened, and he reached out to grip her shoulder.  He murmured something, and it was too loud in the room for Merlin to hear, but it made Elen smile, and then laugh, the awkward tension in her shoulders melting away as Arthur smiled.

\---

_…always_

Their bed was warm, but Arthur’s skin was warmer, so Merlin pressed himself closer, slotting their bodies together in all ways possible.  He felt Arthur’s sleepy grumbling vibrate between their chests, and merely hummed contentedly in response.  They dozed for a while longer, indulging in the rare freedom of not having any responsibilities, until Arthur coaxed Merlin awake with gentle kisses and purposeful touches, until Merlin sighed and allowed his body to be manhandled onto his back, until Merlin’s body welcomed Arthur’s like it was just an extension of his own, and he gasped at the pleasure of it all _until_ finally, he came.

The sun was shining, and Merlin’s skin was damp with perspiration, and none of it mattered as Arthur kissed him, whispering against his skin, “I love you.”

And Merlin smiled, and kissed back, and replied, “Prat.”


End file.
